Free Spirit



Little free-spirit girl,
I catch myself not breathing when
I stop to comprehend your beauty.
(I wonder for a moment where it comes from.) 

When I saw you for the first time
my tears must have washed 
you with a million colors. 

My values blended into 
your skin, subtly freckled you 
with traits kept alive 
for generations.

Your grandmothers and grandfathers 
watch through the bluest stars.
They smile at your beauty, 
sparkle above you,
their jewel born of them. 



©1998 Peggy Putnam Owen